Born to Run

[Lamar Starworth]

3 Weeks Ago

Darkness enveloped the room. Silence beat at the hearts of the men. A gleam of white sparkled amid the uncertainty. This was another mission for the squad. One more mark to be handled, shipped in and tortured. Through the vise the rivaled the lightless chambers trickled data. New upgrades had been shipped into the helmets. The men were excited. They felt safe.

The trot of their feet echoed. Such familiar sounds of life were comforting. They still felt safe. Shock troopers of the greatest kind, they took months and years of training to reach such a pinnacle in their career. Some of the older ones saw retirement growing near. The galaxy was not at peace, but with an E-11 Blaster Rifle in hand, they felt safe.

It was the way of the Boys in White.

Since the Declaration of the New Order, the Stormtrooper Corp was astounding. Before that they were even astounding. Most stood daunted at the massive forces that were grossed from thin air. Some watched without words as the snowmen plowed across the galaxy. Fear shot in men’s veins at the presence. Tall, aggressive, stark, and often soundless knights of chaotic order they were. In the dark they were home. They did not need the light. With their heaven white shell, they were the light. They felt safe.

What is safe, though? Is it the absence of fear, danger, problems? Or maybe it is being certain. Under such precedence they had a lot of reason to feel safe, but a lot isn’t all.

Beyond the chatter, and beyond the white veil, and beyond the drain of peace, breathed life into something raw. Crouched in the empty, lightless hall was one man. In the stale hush, that was once teeming with life, hid one. The hotel was no more. The people had been ordered to evacuate. Around the building perched men in waiting. They had surrounded the place, carefully removed the patrons, and felt safe.

Night dabbled with the sky above the hotel. Orange sprawled across, clouds scrunching in to allow the purple to shrug in. Children toppled over in the streets in a hurry. Workers trotted home, unsure, and precautious. Others dumped themselves in speeders, public transports, and taxis to their houses. Everyone wanted to get back to their bubble before something burst. Nubia was horribly beautiful. And the Stormtroopers still felt safe.

Many drivers swarmed past the hotel. No one glanced. The visitors had new places, or were out in waiting. Public word was that this was a quick fix, and all would resume as usual. This wasn’t too abnormal on Nubia, or any other Inner world. The troopers forced, and the people bended. Everyone was on the same page. Everyone was singing the same note.

Then, the score went wrong.

It was a wrong key, or possibly a misplaced cord switch. Whatever it was, the sound was horrible. The noise was like a microwave squeal from a womp rat that flashed. It was an orange flash. Not very scary, but the men didn’t feel so safe anymore. The comfort of their firm shoes turn rigid. An awkward crunch underneath turned into a crumble; they were stumbling. Between the intercom there buzzed a scratched stammer. Trouble kludged into their spines, running side-by-side with adrenaline and muscle memory. Amid the crackling, disjointed music of jumbled steps a charred a new, off thud. It was quiet. It was a drop.

Someone had pissed their pants.

In the dark it was hard to notice everything that thumped. Nobody but one of the men in the big hall had ever heard a hand bank against the floor, or echo of scream when the head couldn’t stay on top of a body. These were all fresh tunes for their ears, so they couldn’t jam. They did not know how to dance to such a divine song. In a way, they were swept up in the harmonies, and lost themselves to the melody.

But it was a short composition, and the band leader with his shiny wand was still proud of the performance. If there was an audience in the hall there would even be a bow. Instead, though, he just frowned. He was a bit disappointed no one was around to see the magical show. Nobody but more inexperienced dancers in white buckets awaited him outside.

They too would have to learn the steps, but as always with novices they would be uncoordinated and disjointed.

In the end, he would have to set up another rehearsal. Bad thing about it was that none of the boys would be back to try again. They were all dead…tired. In a way, he was sad.

He liked teaching them a lesson.

[Lamar Starworth]

2.5 Weeks Later

Ribbed jacket, black pants, tan long-sleeve shirt and boots were slopped on, and the door flopped open. The clothes reminded me of this guy a long time ago. He wore the same outfit, just this guy’s sense of color was darker. The one before was long ago….back in the times of the Old Republic, and some silly Jedi was in Exile. But that is beside the point. The point is, the guy made me look at him.

From the world beyond (way beyond) I stared. I watched him as he trickled from the small hut, into the street, away from the blown kisses and waves, then off to elsewhere. Where elsewhere was left me with a question, a curiosity, but I decided to step back and simply watch some more. Things were bound to get interesting; they always did.

Low-cut wavy hair trickled over his head, and a silent thud banked within his jacket. He was carrying something. There wasn’t anything truly suspicious about him. His walk was different though. There was a rhythm in his steps. Even, paced, and musical, yet slightly wild, yet far from gangly. He was smooth. It was all quite intriguing. Nubia say many men. Some tall, some bad, some good, and some very ugly. He was neither…well, maybe he was tall for a human – possibly good, but he also could have been bad. There was no telling really, it was all up to interpretation. Most didn’t interpret though. No one seemed interested.

Everyone walked pass him like he was any other spacer. Even as he slipped off into the bright of the sun, a long the side-walk, and into the store with the flashing sign there was not a look in his way. Didn’t seem like the man was expecting a studious eye either…at least from the naked eye. However, there is nothing naked about the eye that actually did watch him. Underneath all his guise, clothes, walk, handsomeness (for a human) there was emotion.

He was conflicted.

He felt like he was on a stage.

Yet, he played his part well. He was on the run, but didn’t run. He walked. He walked smooth. He walked smooth right into that store, and to the counter, and asked:

“Hey…do you gotta anymore flights for today to Corellia or Talus?”

Over the counter was a woman. For some reason she didn’t look it though. As said before, Nubia had seen many, and this one was one of those very ugly. She was H'nemthe, and didn’t say anything immediately. Why was she even off her home planet was a story in itself, but the story at hand was at a halt here.

She wasn’t talking. She was preoccupied, and he was patient. He was on the run, but like he had shown, he didn’t have to run.

Plus, the story had just begun. There was far more to this man, his life, his run, and his adventure than some ugly H'nemthe lady who was busy with here datapad.